


Confession

by This_is_The_Phantom_Lady



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drugs, Gen, Human Sherlock, Nice Sherlock, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sherlock Being Considerate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:04:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9910445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_The_Phantom_Lady/pseuds/This_is_The_Phantom_Lady
Summary: I have a confession to make...Or, how Sherlock saved a life





	

I have a lot of secrets… I think that is true of most people in the world. Isn’t it? I bet even you’ve got a few yourself. 

I chose, or have been forced, rather, to keep some of them for various reasons… if to protect myself, or to protect other people… or to avoid hurting the ones who would have to listen to my confessions. 

But secrets hurt. Mine do, at least. They build up inside; piling up and I can physically feel them expanding the walls of my chest, slowly building up a pressure that is prying my ribs apart… wanting to expose my poor heart to the world. 

Often when I have let something out I have laced it with humour and a giggle, or made it into a story to make it seem insignificant… told it with a crooked smile, or pretended it was someone else’s secret I shared… 

But I need to breathe… and in order to breathe my lungs need space to expand and fill with oxygen. 

So… I need to let something out. And you are the lucky winner… prize yourself that you don’t know me. You have the honour of walking away from this, unscathed… when the story is over; it will only be a story. But hopefully I, selfishly, will feel lighter. 

But where do I start this tale… with what do you start to tell a story like this. 

Perhaps I should start off with laying down some familiar ground. 

Do you know of Sherlock Holmes? The famous detective? The guy who solves cases and all that?  
I met him… I knew him for a very short while. All right, it was more than knowing… he saved my life. 

There, I told you the beginning and the end in one sentence. Spoiler alert… I lived to tell the tale. 

I don’t know if that is the right place to start… the problem is, you don’t know me. A blessing and a curse all in one. It certainly doesn’t make this story-telling business any easier. 

Basically my life didn’t go to plan. That’s the easiest way to say it. I was pretty good at getting myself into trouble and I never really understood how ‘normal’ people got through their lives not having to do the things that I did… 

When I found out I couldn’t, and wouldn’t be suitable for any job that I might have been able to apply for, to feed myself, I made a decision. Someone might have gone to the lengths of calling it a ‘fatal decision’… but it was a decision. And I made it. 

It seemed pretty easy at first. I had seen it in films and on TV… I had even walked through that street late at night and I had seen them… those girls… those women.  
It was always meant to be a one-time thing. Just so I could pay the next rent and wad of bills; just so I could afford to eat before I’d get ill. 

I’d just go and do it once… and I’d close my eyes, I’d shut down my senses and do what I had to do. 

It was only sex. Sex in exchange for money. 

But I didn’t make enough, that one time, to pay my bills… I had to do it once more. And next month came… and my economy hadn’t improved much… and it was such an easy way earn money. 

Easy. No. no it wasn’t. I know that today… I know how much it hurt me. I thought I was shutting myself down; I thought getting drunk after would help eviscerate any memory of it. Which of course never worked… 

I was mortified and ashamed of myself. I was scared of getting found out… I was scared one of the men would recognize me later. I feared that it would forever brand me as nothing but a (and do excuse me for using this derogatory word) whore. And nothing more… that it would be my only story… 

But it happened again and again and I lost track of time… the more I did it, the more I was drinking, the more I was drinking the more I did it. I even started contemplating drugs. The pain relief I was already taking to numb my sick back was temptation enough… 

But I think Sherlock Holmes saved me from that, as well. 

Sorry, I’m babbling… I always do that; I think it’s to avoid getting to the point. 

You are probably thinking I’m going to tell you he was a client of mine; Holmes… but he was quite the opposite. 

It happened all in one messy night; when I was attacked by someone who made me believe he was going to be my client. Attack might not be the right word, but I can’t word the alternative… it’s one of my damages; the inability to form certain words. 

It happened fast. One moment the man was talking to me; casually… hushing his voice as he was asking me about rates. I noted that he seemed kind; he had nice eyes and I made the mistake to trust him. He wanted me to walk with him to his home and that’s what I did. 

He grabbed my arm and dragged me into a darkened passage where he forced me onto the ground; putting his hand over my mouth. I tried to struggle. But I was never that strong.

Briefly I thought he was impatient and I was mostly fighting it because I wanted a more comfortable place to do it; that was until he produced the knife. He was wordlessly threatening me to stay quiet and I did try… hoping that it would spare me my life. 

I didn’t see what happened then; but when I expected the assault to continue he instead fell on top of me; rolling off onto the dirty ground, limply. 

I didn’t dare moving; stuck in a state of shock. 

Another male voice gasped breathlessly 

“Are you all right?” 

And I only stared up at him; my limbs were too heavy to move still. 

I heard the clanking of metal against asphalt; looking back I think he kicked the knife out of reach of the other man. 

“Did he cut you?“ the man now kneeled down next to me. I looked right into his blue eyes that were scanning me. I remember those eyes vividly… the little electric light that made it into the passage lit them up… and all I could do, still, was stare. 

I was still helplessly frozen; while my mind most of all wanted to cower and run the hell away. 

“No” I whispered. My voice finally became unstuck. 

“Come, we need to get you warmed up, you’re shivering” he stated. I hadn’t even noticed it myself; how I was trembling. 

I didn’t feel cold. I didn’t feel anything… I barely even felt his hands carefully gripping me and helping me to sit. I caught a glimpse of the man lying on the ground next to me and gave a jump beyond my own control. 

“You’re safe” he cooed. “He won’t be able to hurt you anymore” he rubbed my shoulders; as if he tried to wake me from a slumber.  
He stood up; towering over me and slipped his long dark coat off; before bending back down to wrap it around my shoulders. I awkwardly hugged it around me. 

“Thank you” I whispered; my fingers testing the coarse tweed of his coat. 

“You’re in shock” he explained. “Perhaps we should get you to a doctor, or call the police” his eyes carefully scanned me once more. Straying to the man who still laid motionless. 

“No” I chirped… realizing in that moment I wouldn’t be able to let myself press charges against that man; I felt it came at the cost of exposing my secret… the fact that I did these things… it would always taint me. It was too steep a cost for me. 

“But” he tried; sinking a tooth into his bottom lip “you have to, don’t you?” he knelt lower to be at my level. His chiselled face somehow softened. 

“No, I really don’t” I felt mine harden. “Please don’t make me… I just want to go home and forget it happened”… I wanted to get home to the bottle of whiskey that stood on my nightstand… I just wanted to take swig after swig until I had forgotten this whole evening ever existed. 

My mind was wandering further… wondering what drugs could erase my memory… which would numb me… and I knew how clueless I was. I didn’t even know where to get them… 

“Okay” he put his hand over mine; and it brought me right back to the real world. I withdrew my hand from his touch. “But you’re going to spend the night in my flat then. You shouldn’t be alone… you shouldn’t be doing what’s on your mind” his eyes bore themselves into mine… 

How did he know? 

“Not on my watch, all right?” his hard, scrutinising gaze made me hold my breath. 

“You don’t even know me” I sighed. Deep down what I meant was that I didn’t know him… but on balance I suppose he just saved my life.  
But then again… how was I to know what his intentions with his gallant behaviour was? 

“Think you’ll be able to walk? Baker Street isn’t far from here” he ignored my half-hearted protest. 

“I guess” I mumbled. I couldn’t even feel my legs still. The shock was still in effect. 

But he helped me to my feet and allowed me to lean on him and slowly but surely we made it to his flat. He let go of me to unlock the door and I gripped at the spikey railing for support. 

 

….

 

He led me up the stairs and into a cluttered flat; with a kitchen that looked much more like a lab than a kitchen. He sat me down on the couch in the living area and dashed into the kitchen-lab; my eyes following him and I saw him put the kettle on. 

“How do you take your tea?” he called out to me. 

I took a moment to respond. I was tempted to say no. The flat seemed like a health hazard. 

“I don’t really have a preference” I let him know. He looked back at me, scrutinizing me again. “thank you”

Of course I did… three sugars… and a good amount of whiskey. 

He returned with two cups of tea, placing one in front of me and he sat himself on his chair; his eyes never leaving mine. 

I really didn’t want the tea… but his staring made me uncomfortable enough; I took a sip. It was incredibly sweet. 

“Are you hungry, I could order some Chinese, I know a great place… the owner always give me extra spring rolls. I got him out of a lawsuit” he babbled. 

I took another sip of the tea. Hungry? The word didn’t compute.

“Of course you are” he drank from his own cup. “how many meals have you replaced with alcohol this week?” he questioned. My mouth fell open. How could he possibly know? 

“Just dinner” I mumbled, embarrassed. My fingers fidgeted with the cup. 

“How many have you skipped entirely?” he continued, ruthlessly 

“Breakfast… some lunches” my voice was barely audible. “How can you tell?”

“Dimsum it is then” he reached for his phone and soon after made the order. 

“How long have you been walking the streets?” he put the phone away and went back to staring into my eyes “Don’t worry, I’m not here to judge you” he added “I know it’s not something you’re proud of” he continued

“Too long” I sighed. 

“I can get you to some people who can help you out, if you want to” he softened again. 

My shiver had returned “they can help with your alcohol problem too”

“I don’t have a problem”; the words came before I even knew it, taking myself by surprise. 

“It’ll be easier if you admit it” he let me know. “I’ll get you there in the morning. For now lets get some food into your system”

“Why” I wondered “why are you being so nice to me?” I swallowed down the rest of the tea; it seemed to feed a craving I wasn’t aware I had. 

He beamed then. 

“Wouldn’t anyone do that?” 

“I wouldn’t know” I mumbled into the mug. 

 

No. 

I can’t do this. 

I have a confession to make… Sherlock Holmes is only a fictional figure. You and I both know that, right? 

He never saved me… 

I, alone saved me… somehow. I got through it, I survived… day by day. 

But sometimes it’s nice to imagine it went differently.


End file.
